Look, Coates wrote this book for his son, not for me, so I can hardly complain that I'm not really the intended audience.

Content-wise, I don't really have a problem with it (beside something of a shrug of my shoulders that it really seemed to lack any kind of coherency in terms of economic or class critique). That said, the experience of a young African American growing up in a world of urban decay and it communities hostile to young black men is no doubt a problematic one, and one filled with opportunities for anger and despair, so I would not for one second deny the author that.

What did compel me to rate it a two star was the writing, which is just a little too florid and baroque to resonate with me. Moreover, there's a tendency towards repetition and circular argument here that - while no doubt somewhat due to both stylistic choices and the state of play in the US today - left me somewhat shrugging my shoulders at the end.

I don't mind the bleakness, but at least James Baldwin keeps you interested despite the despair...